


Rush

by Siria



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s04e17 Midway, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-16
Updated: 2008-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-03 20:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"No."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rush

"No."

"Listen," Rodney said, "I have had a very traumatic day, what with almost losing Earth thanks to the Wraith, and almost losing my sanity thanks to Kavanagh, and having to face the possibility of spending an eternity of non-existence as a large number of very, very small particles floating in the intergalactic void. I do _not_ think it is so much to ask."

"McKay." John forced his words out through gritted teeth, jaw tight, because they were not doing this here. "I said _no_."

"Hey, hey, hey," Rodney said, fingers waggling, hands moving in complex parabolas that matched the arc of his words, and John should have remembered what Rodney was like at the end of days like this one, the ones where they'd just about come out on top: an irrepressible mass of potential energy, and all of it tending towards the kinetic, pulling them both, gasping, down into tangled sheets. "I am not understanding this sudden about-face. You were the one who kissed me back there, remember?"

"Adrenaline," John said shortly, because he could see Rodney out of the corner of his eye and he did remember. He remembered the burn of air in lungs that were still labouring when Rodney pulled him out of the suit; he remembered the too-sharp impression of Rodney's fingers grazing against his neck at sixty-seconds-and-counting, the still-grieving slant of Rodney's mouth, the sound of Rodney's breathing as harsh as his own; he remembered leaning in for just a moment and kissing Rodney when they reached the hatchway, a familiar graze of his lips that had made Rodney jerk in shock because neither of them had expected that, not there.

"That is exactly my point," Rodney said, mouth curving up into a smug smile, and John's fingers curled more tightly around the jumper's controls. "Adrenaline. Guaranteed to bring about at least one of three responses, fight or flight or fuck, and let's face it, we've already done the first two today, I didn't remember to bring so much as a pad of paper and a pencil with me, and it's going to be at least another day and a half before anyone finds us. I have _totally_ earned my daily quota of orgasms."

Still speaking, he reached out to snag one of John's hands in his, pressing John's palm to the front of his BDU pants, where his erection was tenting the dark fabric, and John had to fight the urge to let his fingers curl around the length of it. It would be so good, John knew; it always was.

He pulled his hand away. "McKay--Rodney," John said, "You realise all that's between us and the others is that bulkhead? It's not exactly secure." And of all the fantasies John'd ever had about sex with Rodney, none of them had ever involved Kavanagh or Bill Lee in close proximity.

"Ah, but it is sound-proof!" Rodney crowed. "And it wouldn't take long, you know that I can give a very quick and efficient blowjob." His forehead creased suddenly into a frown. "Not that I'm saying I'm lacking in technique or your stamina is deficient or anything, I--"

"No," John repeated, and if the aftermath of an adrenaline rush inevitably made Rodney horny, it always made John tired. He swivelled his chair so he could look Rodney in the face. "Just... don't, Rodney, I--"

"Please," Rodney blurted out, "I thought you'd--I thought I'd done it, that it was my fault, and you didn't answer me for so long, and I need to. John. Please." Now that bright surge of energy was fading from Rodney's face, his mouth drooping down into a miserable curve. John had the sickening feeling that if there had been room in the cramped space, Rodney would be on his knees in front of him right now, trying to get John's fly open; John knew that, that desperate longing for touch, and right now he was kind of pissed with Rodney for making him feel it, right here where John couldn't get away. Rodney had to know that.

So John stood up, grabbing Rodney by the collar of his t-shirt and pulling him up, too. John leaned in and kissed him just once, a little fiercely, teeth nipping at Rodney's lower lip, promising more but still pushing away when Rodney tried to open his mouth to him. "I'm not doing this here, McKay," he said. "I know you want to, but I _can't do this here_."

Rodney stared at him for a moment, slack-jawed in incomprehension, and John could tell he was working himself up to the kind of loud rant that could only end in outing them to the guys on the other side of that thin wall; but John could also see the exact moment when Rodney _got_ it, when he realised that John wanted everything that Rodney did, but that there would be no way to contain it here between them. That this tiny space, these hastily thrown-up walls, couldn't hide them from the others, and that this was something John wanted to keep apart, safe, for as long as he possibly could.

"I'll just... go," Rodney said, gesturing vaguely at the bulkhead door. "Temptation, better to be, um," as if he wasn't the one who'd started all this twenty minutes ago, six months ago. He blinked at John once, twice, pressed a dry and chaste kiss to John's stubbled cheek, and then the door was opening and closing behind him, leaving John alone with a view-screen full of stars and an mp3 player full of Johnny Cash. He settled himself back down into the pilot's seat, propping his feet up against the chair behind it; muffled but distinct, through the wall, he could hear Rodney tell Kavanagh that _Sheppard was being a dick, no I don't know why, do I claim to understand the inner workings of his mind? Shut up and deal me in._

John fought the urge to grin and roll his eyes at the same time, because _sound-proofed? yeah, right_, and trust Rodney to draw as much attention to himself as possible when he was really trying his best to deflect it. John curled up in his chair a little and rested his head against the wall and felt his eyes grow heavy while in his ears, the Man in Black sang about the girl from the North Country Fair.

It had been a long day, and his legs hurt and his eyelids were heavy, and when they got back to Atlantis, he was probably going to have to drag Rodney up to the top of one of the disused towers and have it out with him: tell him how this whole thing between them was a bad idea, say why they could never do anything like that in public again, ask him how he'd managed to get John's heart so twisted up in his chest that the thoughts of losing this fledgling thing between them made John feel like he was back on the venting station, the oxygen being pulled from his lungs, leaving him staggering, helpless.

He'd do all of it if he only knew how to ask; but it was something to sleep on, he supposed, until the next time he could curl up and sleep next to Rodney. He let his eyelids droop shut, stretched a little, and thought that maybe in the morning, when he woke up, maybe that would be the day when he'd finally have the words.


End file.
